From a Different Point of View
by Last Haven
Summary: Two Shot. First chapter: America's pillow is proud to be called the best, but being the greatest means putting up with a lot. Second: For years, Britain's blanket has served him faithfully.
1. The Coolest Pillow in the World

**Notes: Done as a fill on a kinkmeme. The original prompt was: **_I want to see America and England's relationship from an inanimate object's pov. Like, for instance, America or England's bed wouldn't be too happy to support them rigorously screwing each other senseless for hours on end, would it? _**Original titled The Most Awesome Pillow in the World. There's a second part to this which I will upload TOMORROW.**

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><p>The pillow remembered many things; it could remember being stuffed with goose down and sown up. It could remember being shipped across many miles before it arrived at its new master's home. It even remembered the first night its master put it in his favorite pillowcase; it was blue and worn, but they got along well. The pillow liked its master's big bed; it liked the sheets, blankets, and the quilt that was added in winter too, but most of all it liked its master.<p>

And its master liked it back—whenever he went on his long trips to far off places he picked it to go with him. It was so proud; he brought it along for the long plane rides, and when he got to the hotels, he'd shove the other pillows off the bed to make room for it. It was special and important, and it had never been happier than the day it heard its master proclaim that it was _the coolest pillow in the world_ and _I could never get to sleep without it (jeez, Britain, it's not like you don't have that blanket you take everywhere with you)._

Every night, its master would hop into bed and flop his face down straight into its softness. No matter how rough he treated it, it was proud and happy to do its job. (It was the 'coolest' in the world after all; its master was counting on it!)

There was just one thing—it did not like being borrowed. Its master could not sleep without it so he didn't loan it out, but sometimes it got…used by people other than its master. Thankfully, it was only the Britain person, but it did not like to be bitten to muffle moans or used to help prop up the man's sweaty back whenever he and its master went to bed together. They were so loud too, they definitely weren't sleeping! Honestly, the poor pillowcase always complained for a good wash after that and the pillow wished for the same.

Tonight was no different; at least its master and the Britain were finished. The pillow had been bitten again, and if it had actual ears they would have been ringing from all the shouting the Britain had made into its side.

Worst of all, however, was the fact that its master wasn't even using it! It, the coolest pillow in the world, had been discarded for draping himself across his Britain's chest. Discarded for a lumpy, hard ribcage! The other pillow would mock it for sure now. Well, at least the bed frame couldn't laugh at it—it was too busy complaining about the new crack their master managed to add.

"That was _awesome,"_ its master laughed.

The Britain snorted but didn't stop circling his thumb against one of the knobs of its master's spine. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, but if the bed snaps beneath us again, I'm blaming you."

"Oh come on, it's sturdy enough!"

"That's what you said about the table as well."

"Hey, at least I caught you before you bashed your head against the floor."

"Not that you could say the same when we fell out of the shower."

"I'd like to see you try to catch a slippery, naked person."

"_That_ could be arranged."

"Now that sounds fun," its master smirked but then frowned as he shifted. "Fucking A, your chest is bony—you have no meat on your bones."

"I'm sorry; I can only take that seriously coming from someone who doesn't constantly weigh himself."

"Hey, this is all muscle here, I'll have you know."

"I _do_ know, actually. I happen to appreciate it greatly."

"Damn straight. Still doesn't change the fact you're all bony."

"Oh for God's sake," the Britain grumbled before the pillow found itself suddenly picked up and tossed at its master's head. "Use that and stop complaining! Or just get off."

"Already did that _twice_ tonight," its master snickered as he placed the pillow between his head and the Britain's chest. "Much better. This really is an awesome pillow."

"Indeed."

If the pillow had a face, it would have beamed. If the Britain managed to be that nice more often, it would learn to ignore the yelling and biting thing. It laid there, fluffy and comforting, sandwiched between the two, content to do as it had always done.


	2. Comforter

Britain made the blanket years ago, during the war, just to have something to keep his hands busy. In this way, it is proud—even in the beginning it provided its master comfort. Its master would often curl up under it, dragging it across his shoulders, tucking his feet in under it, until the only thing it didn't cover was his head, and sometimes he'd even cover that up.

Its master took good care of it—every tear was stitched, every stain washed, but never once was it stuffed away in some closet like so many of the other blankets. Its master kept it out year round and would take it on those long trips with him. But lately, it seemed he preferred to keep it near the couch, especially when that America fellow would come back again. The two of them would huddle underneath it—admittedly, it wasn't a large blanket, but it was warm and soft—pressed side by side. At first, the blanket wasn't sure what to think of it, but unlike that pompous pillow of America's, it didn't mind sharing or being shared.

"How long have you had this thing anyway?"

"Over sixty years, I suppose. It's served me well."

"Well, yeah—you made it, didn't you?"

"Indeed, I did."

"I like it—you even used my colors on it."

"Red, white, and blue happen to be _my_ colours as well, you dolt."

"Yeah, but you don't have _stars_ in your flag, babe. Five pointed stars at that."

"…New Zealand does."

"Yeah, white and _red_ stars."

"Oh, just belt up. The show's back on."

"Love you too, sweetheart."

"…wanker."

If the blanket could laugh, it would have. Instead it merely tried to stretch itself out more to cover them both as its master slid closer to his America. It was made to be comforting, and so it always would.


End file.
